Марсианские хроники
December 2001: The Green Morning
"You’llbeallright,"saidthedoctor.
"Whathappened?"
"Theair’sprettythin.Somecan’ttakeit.Ithinkyou’llhavetogobacktoEarth."
"No!"HesatupandalmostimmediatelyfelthiseyesdarkenandMarsrevolvetwicearoundunderhim.Hisnostrilsdilatedandheforcedhislungstodrinkindeepnothingness."I’llbeallright.I’vegottostayhere!"
Theylethimliegaspinginhorridfishlikemotions.Andhethought,Air,air,air.They’resendingmebackbecauseofair.AndheturnedhisheadtolookacrosstheMartianfieldsandhills.Hebroughtthemtofocus,andthefirstthinghenoticedwasthattherewerenotrees,notreesatall,asfarasyoucouldlookinanydirection.Thelandwasdownuponitself,alandofblackloam,butnothingonit,notevengrass.Air,hethought,thethinstuffwhistlinginhisnostrils.Air,air.Andontopofhills,orintheirshadows,orevenbylittlecreeks,notatreeandnotasinglegreenbladeofgrass.Ofcourse!Hefelttheanswercamenotfromhismind,buthislungsandhisthroat.Andthethoughtwaslikeasuddengustofpureoxygen,raisinghimup.Treesandgrass.Helookeddownathishandsandturnedthemover.Hewouldplanttreesandgrass.Thatwouldbehisjob,tofightagainsttheverythingthatmightpreventhisstayinghere.HewouldhaveaprivatehorticulturalwarwithMars.Therelaytheoldsoil,andtheplantsofitsoancienttheyhadwornthemselvesout.
